By Summer. Five months pregnant, two kids, Oklahoma heat. I've done this before. The crockpot is deployed. The oven is off. The window unit is working overtime. Brayden is in swim trunks all day (we bought a $12 inflatable pool from Walmart and he lives in it). Harper toddles around the apartment leaving a trail of Cheerio dust like a tiny Hansel and Gretel. And I stand at the counter, belly pressing against the laminate, stirring cold pasta salad and wondering how this kitchen got even smaller or if I just got bigger.
The food bank classes continue through summer — Carol expanded to a third location, a community center in Broken Arrow. Broken Arrow. My hometown. I teach cooking classes in Broken Arrow now, in a community center three blocks from the house where the tornado took our roof. I walk past that lot sometimes — the house was rebuilt by someone else, for someone else — and I think about the bathtub and the roar and the eleven-year-old girl who crawled out of the rubble. That girl teaches cooking classes now. That girl feeds people for a living. The tornado didn't win. The tornado was loud and destructive and terrifying, and it didn't win.
The food bank asked if I'd be interested in a part-time position. Community kitchen coordinator. It's a title. A real title, not "market vendor" or "blogger" or "that girl with the empanadas." Community kitchen coordinator. It comes with a paycheck — small, but consistent. And health insurance, if I go full-time eventually. Health insurance. The words make me dizzy. I've never had health insurance in my own name. Dustin's insurance covers the kids and me, but having my own — that's different. That's independence. That's the kind of safety net that people like me dream about but rarely get to hold.
I told Carol I'd think about it. I'm thinking about it. I'm thinking about it standing at the stove, five months pregnant, stirring no-cook pasta salad, with two kids at my feet and a third one kicking under my ribs. I'm thinking about it.
When you’re five months pregnant in Oklahoma summer heat, stirring something cold at the counter while a toddler circles your ankles, you don’t want a recipe that asks anything of you — no oven, no skillet, no standing over steam. This frozen cucumber salad is the one I kept coming back to those weeks I was turning a job offer over in my mind like a smooth stone: cool, make-ahead, completely forgiving. I’d mix it up, slide it in the freezer, and let it do its thing while I figured out mine.
Frozen Cucumber Salad
Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes + 2 hours freezing | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 4 medium cucumbers, thinly sliced
- 1 medium onion, thinly sliced
- 1 cup sugar
- 1 cup white vinegar
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1 teaspoon celery seed
Instructions
- Prep the vegetables. Thinly slice the cucumbers and onion and place them together in a large mixing bowl.
- Make the brine. In a separate bowl or large measuring cup, whisk together the sugar, white vinegar, salt, and celery seed until the sugar is fully dissolved.
- Combine. Pour the brine over the cucumbers and onions. Stir well to coat everything evenly.
- Freeze. Transfer the mixture to a freezer-safe container or zip-top bags. Freeze for at least 2 hours, or until partially frozen through.
- Serve. Remove from the freezer 10–15 minutes before serving to let it thaw slightly to a slushy, icy texture. Serve cold as a refreshing side dish.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 115 | Protein: 1g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 28g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 295mg